Oh, God. Never saw him with a woman. He truly needed to … do something about that. Check up on that damned prostitute and get it over with.

Zechariah glanced down to his white gloved hand, and then back to Elijah. He went through a lot of gloves, though it was still a shame. Perhaps he could channel his disappointment into that instead of the absolute disinterest Not-Richard had in him.

There was a slight, sympathetic nod at ‘blind fool,’ the start of a quizzical tilt at ‘make it up to him’. A raise of the brows at his sudden demands to … flog him? Literally? He handed his own gloves off to Crane and stared at his retreating back.

… Was he coming on to him?

Zechariah glanced suspiciously to the front door. Then, content, slunk after Crane like a lynx who had found his next meal. He crossed his arms and leaned in the doorway, peering with a … slightly hungry look.

“You should stop by, tonight,” Zechariah said, pleasantly.